January 5th, 1998 - Burbank, Los Angeles
The morning sun bathed the straight road, illuminating the English letters lining the streets. Reeking of alcohol, Michael Davenport stood before a newsstand, fixated on a copy of the Los Angeles Times.
The date on the newspaper read January 5th, 1998.
Michael rubbed his haggard face and tousled his bird's nest hair. He had awoken in the early hours from a drunken stupor at a bar, instantly aware something profound had occurred. Now he was utterly certain.
He had traveled across the Pacific Ocean from over two decades into the future, arriving in 1998 Los Angeles.
To be precise, this was Burbank - a satellite city adjacent to LA proper.
"Morning Mr. Davenport," the newsstand owner greeted him. "Need a paper?"
Michael nodded, purchasing a copy of the LA Times before heading towards a nearby office building's entrance.
"Isn't that Michael Davenport?" A portly middle-aged woman emerged. "Look at that washed-up loser! Squandered his dad's company in just a year."
The owner pulled her aside. "Lisa, watch your mouth."
But she muttered, "Well, it's true isn't it?"
Their voices carried, but Michael paid no heed. They spoke facts about this body's former host, now firmly down on his luck.
Reaching the building, he easily spotted "Seashore Entertainment" among the hanging nameplates. But Michael didn't enter, silently regarding the golden company logo.
After a drunk night out with clients, he passed out only to awaken transported across the Pacific in a LA bar - now inhabiting Michael Davenport.
Was it the identical name pronunciations that enabled this voyage?
His addled thoughts slowly crystallized between that jarring moment and now.
Having read trans-dimensional tales, acceptance came easier than expected.
Back home, Michael was a lonesome bachelor with only his decent corporate job as a tether. No ties binding him urgently to the previous existence.
Lowering his gaze inward, the memories of Michael Davenport flooded his consciousness...
One phrase captured this man: Lofty dreams, modest means.
Michael Davenport was born privileged, his father the millionaire founder of tiny production house Seashore Entertainment in the 80s - churning out direct-to-video B-movies.
A staunchly conservative businessman, the elder Davenport never ventured beyond shoestring budgets, his decade's output utterly unmemorable yet financially comfortable.
Until just over a year ago when the Davenports perished in a tragic hiking accident in Utah, bequeathing Michael the company and estate.
At 19, Michael promptly quit USC's prestigious film school to take over Seashore, holding full ownership.
The brash youth immediately repudiated his father's caution, plowing the company's savings, his inheritance, and his parents' life insurance into a $6 million hyper-violent action flick.
This was an era when hyper-stylized action blockbusters dominated. Even prestige actors like Nicolas Cage did action roles.
Alas, when Michael's "Surviving the Killzone" premiered last October, it flopped after just four weeks, grossing a paltry $800K domestically. With fees factored in, Seashore's share was negligible.
No foreign distributors bought the international rights to the dud.
Over two months, Seashore's finances imploded. Banks initiated foreclosure, employees resigned en masse, and Michael faced personal and corporate bankruptcy.
This hubris-addled youth crumbled, seeking solace in booze and self-destruction.
Until his consciousness shifted here...
"Not the new Mendes or Ellison by dropping out to make bombs," Michael mused wryly.
The lingering memories revealed a talented if rash dreamer, a vaunted USC prodigy - especially in screenwriting.
His original script for "Surviving" showcased remarkable potential wasted on that vapid violence-fest.
But talent alone never equates to success.
Vastly overfinanced and overambitious - gambling everything on one make-or-break genre pic?
From Michael's experienced perspective, the wiser play was starting modestly to build a sustainable base.
Easier said than done, of course.
Back in the other realm, Michael was a theater school grad toiling behind-the-scenes before clawing his way up to becoming a journeyman producer and operations overseer for a video startup.
Eyeing Seashore's weathered nameplate dredged up his accumulated industry knowledge and experiences.
Hollywood. The internet rising. Fortunes poised to be remade.
If he adapted deftly...perhaps Michael could climb to those loftiest of perches.
The temptations awaiting at such precipitous heights - wealth, fame, indulgences.
Yet the wreckage bequeathed by his previous self's recklessness induced a nagging migraine.
Entering during working hours, Michael ignored the furtive gazes and hushed asides:
"Can you believe he ran Seashore into the ground in just a year?"
"I hear Daddy Davenport's rolling in his grave."
"With that boozy look, he'll probably jump off a roof next."
Michael tuned them out, locating the compact Seashore offices where four remaining staffers had arrived, all veteran loyalists from the elder Davenport's era.
A brunette woman in her 40s approached with concern. "Michael?"
"I'm alright, Mary," he nodded, recognizing the elder's former assistant recently promoted to financial controller.
As Michael entered, a heavyset man followed, document in hand.
"Mr. Davenport..." He set it on the desk. "This is my resignation letter."
Picking it up, Michael glanced it over. "Jamie, the company isn't bankrupt yet."
An obvious talent he wished to retain if possible.
But Jamie's conviction was firm. "I have a mortgage, car payments, two kids... I can't take that risk. I'm sorry."
No point arguing - Michael lightly nodded, approving the departure. "Already lined up a new job?"
Jamie affirmed, "Yes."
Michael inked his signature then buzzed Mary to process Jamie's final compensations and paperwork.
No sooner had Jamie exited than raised voices echoed from outside - Mary seemingly berating the outgoing staffer.
Michael knew the writing was on the wall. Without a rapid course correction, the remaining loyalists would inevitably resign over the coming weeks.
But how to swiftly stabilize this precarious overhang?
A knock. "Come in."
Mary re-entered. "It's Judith from the bank."
The previous Michael had dodged creditors, but this one recognized such avoidance as folly. "Please show her in."
A statuesque blonde woman followed Mary inside.
"Hello Ms. Judith."
"Mr. Davenport." She slid a payment notice before him, nostrils flaring at his alcoholic odor as distaste flickered across her expression. "Your company's $1 million loan and your personal $1 million mortgage, both with us, become due in three and six months respectively."
Michael glanced over the notice. "I'm aware."
Judith stated firmly, "We expect timely repayment."
Offering no other remarks, she swiftly departed.
The bank rarely sent couriers for collections. Seashore's dire straits likely had them quite apprehensive.
The company had taken out that longstanding $1 million loan years ago using its limited film library as collateral. Michael's personal mortgage was secured against his inherited North Hollywood condo.
Short of utter ruin, banks preferred avoiding foreclosure's nuclear option.
His predecessor likely dreamed of grandly repaying this debt shortly after their calamitous make-or-break gambit...before reality's indignities crushed such delusions.
Facing this $2 million burden triggered fleeting thoughts of cutting his losses for Michael. But a steadying breath dispelled that imprudent temptation. This wasn't yet rock bottom.
Ascending to the heights he envisioned wouldn't manifest through mere reincarnation - even for transmigrated souls, genuine success required struggle and strategizing.
"Mary," he addressed the controller. "How much is left in the company's accounts?"
In the absence of a dedicated accountant, the diligent Mary had assumed those duties. "25,000 dollars."
Adding his personal $5,000 cache, that totaled a very finite $30,000 runway.
Insufficient to last even half a year - never mind replenishing the $2 million shortfall.
That entire reserve wouldn't cover two months of overhead - utilities, office lease, telecom, operations...
Even stalwart Mary would be forced to resign without a paycheck after just 8-10 weeks at most. In America, nearly everyone lived paycheck-to-paycheck.
Sensing his predicament, Mary suggested, "We still control the home video and television rights to 'Surviving the Killzone.' A sale could buy us some time."
"Let me think it over," Michael demurred.
She hesitated, then relented with a nod before exiting.
Even a cataclysmic theatrical dud's ancillary rights wouldn't yield enough revenue to re-orient Seashore onto viable trajectories. Not nearly enough.
Stymied for immediate solutions, Michael requested Mary procure all recent newspapers and periodicals. Knowledge was priority one - orienting himself before recklessly charging forward.
While devouring the publications cover-to-cover, he diligently noted key details in a separate notebook, highlighting the most pivotal:
-"Titanic" crossed $200 million domestic last weekend, a new all-time record.
-NASDAQ's historic surge as tech giants like Cisco and Yahoo dominated headlines.
-A blogger named Matt Haughey facing backlash over his community website "MetaFilter."
-Abu Dhabi invested authority opened a Los Angeles office last year.
-North American film attendance topped 1.4 billion in 1997.
Michael leaned back, considering his copious notes...